


A magician's peculiarities

by thaumatomane (choosedailymail)



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Adventures, Community: jsmn-kinkmeme, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Phobias, Pillar of Darkness, Pineapples, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7199378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choosedailymail/pseuds/thaumatomane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan has a phobia. Norrell helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A magician's peculiarities

**Author's Note:**

> A very old kinkmeme prompt (http://jsmn-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1273.html?thread=399865#cmt399865) asked for Strange's phobia of pineapples being triggered in the Pillar of Darkness and Norrell helping him deal with it.

Every book in Hurtfew's library required examination. There had to be a spell in one of them, that could combine with another, or have part taken from it, that would help lift this curse. There was a lot to get through, more than four thousand volumes to be precise. It would take years – perhaps a decade, give or take, maybe more – to search them all.  
  
It was not unusual for Jonathan to have his nose in a book that appeared quite useless to their predicament. That was the case now, as the volume open in front of him was a record of agricultural magic. He turned the pages at a leisurely pace, scanning each paragraph in the candlelight. There were spells for increasing crop yield, extending the life of legumes, isolating weather over areas of land. Not one of these spells was helpful at all. At the end of a chapter, Jonathan was faced with the page illustrating the next section: _Exotic Fruits_. Beneath the title was a large, detailed engraving of a pineapple, its long leaves feathered out like a bird’s tail. Shrieking, he slammed the book closed and kicked himself back from the desk.  
  
Norrell looked up sharply upon hearing the commotion. Jonathan’s chair had toppled and beside it on the floor was Jonathan, all a tremble and looking quite unwell. After pocketing his reading glasses Norrell made his way over to him.  
  
“Jonathan,” he asked, cautious to get too close to him in case he vomited, “are you quite all right?” When Jonathan did not reply Norrell stepped closer, ready to help him up.  
  
“Get away from me!” Jonathan shouted, flinching at the sound of his own voice. Scrambling to his feet he hurried away from Mr Norrell and the library, to hide in his room for a while.  
  
Standing the chair back up on its legs, Norrell peered at the book Jonathan had been reading before his outburst: _A Compendium of Agricultural Magick_. He had been reading it for the last hour, Norrell noted, but now it was closed. Hovering fingertips above the cover, Norrell whispered an incantation which would reveal the last page read before the book was closed – a useful spell indeed.  
  
The cover creaked open against the table top and a gentle breeze, that seemed to come from nowhere, blew the pages open. Norrell watched them turn until they came to a stop. Pulling his glasses from his pocket, he leant down to inspect the page. He attempted to find something worthy of a reaction such as Jonathan’s, but found nothing. It was merely an engraving of fruit.  
  
*  
  
That night – or rather, when he chose to sleep – Jonathan had a terrible nightmare. It started like any other dream might. He was seated beside the library fireplace, enjoying the sound of the logs cracking and the tuneless humming Norrell often made while reading. All was well. Then, suddenly, he was acutely aware of several pineapples huddled together beneath his chair. He was not sure how he knew they were there. Without taking his eyes from the page he knew there were more of them lining the mantel, sitting upright and looking at him. He could smell them, their sharp tang drying out his tongue.  
  
Daring to look, he saw the mantelpiece was indeed crowded with pineapples, each of them seeming to glare at him menacingly. The texture of their bodies disgusted him, like curled spikes atop fish fins, or a pinecone made only of shark’s teeth. Their leaves too reminded him of tiny green blades, sharpened and ready to piece his flesh and snag at his clothing. Jonathan tried to turn his attention back to his book but as he did he was beset by the _sound_ of the pineapples. If anyone ever asked him to describe the sound of a pineapple he'd have had difficulty, but it most definitely existed. It was a deep, hollow noise not unlike the resonance of a recently struck gong. It made Jonathan’s skin crawl.  
  
In the dream, Mr Norrell walked past him, humming contentedly as he returned a book to its shelf. Jonathan held his breath when he noticed the shape of a pineapple hiding beneath Norrell’s house-coat. How it managed to get there he didn't know. He was aware of another pineapple too, no larger than an eggcup, burrowed beneath the tail of Norrell’s wig. The humming grew louder and Jonathan realised it was the pineapples that were humming, not Norrell. Humming came from behind shelved books, beneath tables and through the windows. Jonathan knew that Hurtfew’s grounds now teemed with low-growing pineapples and that pineapples bobbed along the River Hurt like fish. Some of them might even be leaping out of the water and trying to climb up onto land.  
  
Horrified, Jonathan saw Norrell slicing a pineapple at his desk. The juice dripped onto the open book it rested on and ruined the pages. Scraping away the skin, Norrell revealed the soaking cylinder of pineapple meat within, dotted with brown rivets. The sight of it was too much, each tiny brown hole like a mouth laughing at him. Norrell lifted the fruit whole and sank his teeth into its dripping flesh. As it screamed Jonathan woke, the sheets clinging to his sweat-drenched back.  
  
He was glad Norrell had not seen him like this.  
  
*  
  
A few months later, the magicians stumbled across a spell that might have been able to free them from their enchantment. It required very specific ingredients that necessitated a lot of travelling to obtain. One of these ingredients was a quart of Naiadic water – that is, water collected from a source enchanted by a water sprite. Norrell had just the book, _The Naiads of Albion and Beyond_ , a geographical encyclopaedia listing springs and bodies of water said to be inhabited by water spirits, naiads and mermaids.  
  
After discovering where the Darkness had wandered to, they established the closest source was a spring on a small southern island in the Philippines.  
  
Their task was simplified by the affect the Darkness had on the elements. Just as it swallowed up sunlight, wind, and time, the Darkness also halted the flow of water. A few feet back from the river’s edge – as he'd read that water spirits could be destructive – Norrell watched Jonathan bravely walk across the frozen surface of the enchanted water and dip the pail into it. He lit Jonathan’s path with a spell of illumination, nervous he might trip on one of the dulled rocks. Once the pail was full, Jonathan made his way back to dry land.  
  
“Is it full to the top?” Norrell asked, unable to see from where he was standing. They needed to collect more than the spell required to compensate for error. Jonathan confirmed they had more than enough.  
  
As they returned to where Hurtfew waited for them, Norrell began to witter about the history of water fairies who settled in England long before the birth of Uskglass. Jonathan usually stayed silent during Norrell’s wittering, but was unusually so now. When Norrell turned he realised Jonathan was no longer beside him, he was cowering on the ground ten paces back, the pail upturned beside him. In an instant, Norrell rushed to him.  
  
“I did not see them before,” Jonathan choked out, both hands over his eyes. Norrell looked around. He could not see far in the dim light, but could make out the shape of a few trees and, of course, the river. Along the pathway beside the water was a row of pineapple plants, a few half-ripened fruits sprouting from them. Jonathan hyperventilated, his chest tight with fear, and reached an unsteady hand toward Norrell. His other hand stayed clasped over his eyes. “Please, take me home. I daren’t look at them.”  
  
“Jonathan,” Norrell soothed, taking the other man’s hand in a light grip, “there is no danger here, no danger at all. What frightens you?”  
  
“Pineapples,” Jonathan blurted out, entirely mortified. He was certain Norrell would not understand his fear or would at least laugh at him for it.  
  
Norrell took Jonathan’s arm and pulled him to his feet, aware his friend would be keeping his eyes tightly closed until they were back within the safety of Hurtfew. Jonathan mumbled a ‘sorry’ under his breath as he staggered along, trying not to think of how many pineapples might be beside him, whispering to each other as they watched him walk by.  
  
“There’s no need to apologise,” Norrell assured him, leading Jonathan by the elbow.  
  
“M-make sure they don’t follow us,” Jonathan stammered, his breathing shallow and fast. Norrell said he would make sure.  
  
Once inside the library, Norrell took Jonathan to his armchair and sat him down.  
  
“Can I do anything to help?” he asked, rubbing the other man’s arm lightly. Jonathan shook his head, still panting, as his eyes darted around the room. He was unconvinced he was safe yet. Norrell sat in the opposite chair and picked up a book from beside him calmly. “I’ll be just here if you need me,” he said, pulling his glasses from his pocket.  
  
At length, Jonathan came back to himself. Norrell peered up from his book; the steadying of Jonathan’s breathing demonstrated how much better he felt. Jonathan waited for the questioning, perhaps even a chuckle at the notion of a fruit phobia.  
  
“Some tea?” Norrell asked, closing his book quietly against his lap. Jonathan smiled and said that yes, he would like that very much.  
  
*  
  
“Are you not going to ask?” Jonathan enquired, after Norrell had returned from collecting the water by himself.  
  
“Ask what?” Norrell replied.  
  
“About the-,” Jonathan went to say it – _pineapples_ – but even the thought of saying the word aloud made his heart pound. He waved a hand in front of his face at his inability to say it. “About earlier.”  
  
Jonathan’s cheeks were red. Without any of those blasted fruits in front of him the whole idea of fearing them seemed rather silly. In fact, he always thought that should he face another he would have the mental strength to cope. Being in the vicinity of one was a completely different matter and only reminded him of how weak he was. Venice still had trouble importing pineapples thanks to the residual effects of the spell he'd performed there many years prior. If he could cast one to end their existence entirely he would, but he assumed they must have some purpose, apart from putting the fear of God into him.  
  
“Not if you do not wish to tell me.” Norrell was determined to appear insouciant toward the situation but curiosity showed on his face. He wanted to help, but he knew that sometimes there's nothing to be done or said that can. Jonathan could not help but smile at that.  
  
“I appreciate it,” Jonathan replied, unable to wipe the grin from his face. He had been in Norrell’s company for many years now and to this day was still discovering new things about him. Norrell understood fear, how irrational it could be sometimes, and what it was capable of doing to a person. He also knew how cruel it could be to enquire, or try and solve a fear as if it was that simple. He smiled back at Jonathan.  
  
“Do say if you’d like me to get rid of one in future, though I doubt we’ll see them very often,” Norrell said, hoping it would reassure Jonathan a little. “I hate to think of you suffering in silence.”  
  
Jonathan nodded, touched. He recalled a spider that not long ago made its web between two candlesticks on Norrell’s desk. Norrell had said nothing, but Jonathan noticed he'd been unable to concentrate while it was there. He caught it under a cup while Norrell slept and tossed it into the gardens. When Norrell woke to find the eight-legged creature vanished along with its white web, he was immediately calmer and more focused.  
  
“Likewise sir,” Jonathan said, “likewise.”


End file.
